The Hawk Kitchen 7:50pm
I have drunk My First Beverage
W–A–T–E–R
from My Chalice Divine
standing before My Dramatic Sky
of heavy mauve cloud
& Illuminated Gull
reaching around
to the sea-view
Barrington Passage, NS 2:22pm
I’m sitting in a Doctor’s Office
One of The Safest Places
in The World
or is It?
Here I am given a little green pill
to ward off anxiety
about The World at Large
I have had My Talk
& My Walk
but continue to feel
a shadow
of uneasiness
The Hawk West Desk Window 10:00pm
I believe I will live
to tell the story of My Death
& not the murky recitation
of past relatives
& misty shores
I will live to tell
of nightly dreams
coalescing
into daily performance
the history of which
enshrouded
by My Veil
of Truth
will come to My Listeners
as no surprise
The Hawk Deck 12:40pm
I have been called to write
by the high urgency
of The Willet
here in My Sanctuary
The Call of The Wild
alerts Me to The Strife
of Humanity
I know exists
but from which
I am graciously
exiled
The Tomato-coloured Couch 6:45pm
Look Out Children
‘cuz here I come
to colour Your World
in Pink & Gold
from Horizon to Horizon
I’m here to show You
True Blue
the ancient cauldrons
of desire
for leadership
of decades
aeons
The Hawk Living Room 7:30pm
I ate My Potato Salad
& drank a beer
here by the open Living Room Window
at the edge of The Tomato-coloured Couch
but that was at the edge of The Galaxy
where stars burst & die
I would lie My Head on a blanket
& listen to the aftershocks
wafting through
on the surge
of ocean mist
& bird call
The Hawk West Desk Window 8:30pm
There’s a man out of The Tub
Who doesn’t belong to Me
He’s My Husband in name only
& stands at My Side
to watch The Opalescent Sky
& The Sun go down
with Bands of Cloud
The Hawk Queen Bed 8:57pm
Yesterday on The Trail
in Barrington Bay
I heard The Willets
The Sound of Childhood
in Jordan Bay
My Grandfather wrote
about The Willet’s song
in Anchorage Northeast:
“My own ear has seldom caught “Willet”
in the famous and far-piercing call.
To me it is pilly-will-wee,
with the accent on the last syllable,
or pill-wee-wee, with the accent
on the second,
in either case repeated over and over
and virtually always in flight.
It is a high, hurrying, questioning cry,
urgent of something I can only imagine,
a glad sound on the bird’s coursings of the shore,
a call of fulfillment(sic)
and the June-morning glory
of being alive and a-wing.”
Howard Talbot Walden 2nd
Anchorage Northeast p.189
The Hawk Family Room 4:52pm
I Have A Message
fuelled by One Blonde Beer
sitting in A Brown Leather Swivel Chair
looking South Out A Double Window —
My Husband lists the unavailability
of Silver
by domestic bullion dealers
My Message Is: Gather Your Wits
buy what You can of Grain
& Gold
& hold onto Your Children, Your House
Your Guiding Beliefs
let not the government
break down Your Door
The Tomato-coloured Couch 3:33pm
What happened to That Long-haired Girl
Who painted That Giant Canvas
on The Roof of #5 World Trade Center?
I heard She turned 52
& writes in Her Journal
sitting on Her Tomato-coloured Couch
in Her astral-cork-floored living room
surrounded by beaches & dunes
waves & bird life
while Her Son starts a tree-planting job out West
& Her Daughter finishes correspondence courses
for Her Last Year
of High School
Joanna Gilman Hyde 